


Fix It

by Tish



Category: Always Crashing in the Same Car (2007)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Power Dynamics, Shame in Sexual Desires, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 01:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14462361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tish/pseuds/Tish
Summary: There's a payment for fucking up. There always is.





	Fix It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearteating](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearteating/gifts).



Jim waited, he was always waiting. A sharp rebuke, a command, or a sneering insult from Bill always sent a shock through his body. Revulsion and anticipation mixed with the throbbing arousal he always felt when he had to wait.

Bill's breathing down the phone line was Jim's entire world as he waited for Bill to speak.

“What did I tell you, you stupid fuck?” Bill's voice was quiet, threatening and highly arousing to Jim.

Jim could only stammer something indistinct, muttering like a sulky schoolboy.

“Speak up, I didn't hear you,” Bill's voice was like shards of steel and glass.

There was silence as Jim swallowed and then started over. “You told me they would do us over. You told me not to put all my eggs in one basket.”

“That's right, although I'm sure I used a lot more swear words when I told you not to fuck it up,” Bill answered.

Jim flinched every time Bill swore, hating Bill's uncouth manner, hating himself for taking it, hating himself for wanting it.

“I'm coming over. I want you to get a grip on yourself. I want you to be ready when I get there,” Bill's voice was barely a whisper as it slowly slithered into Jim's ear.

“I'm perfectly focused, Bill,” Jim protested, finding some vehemence rising in him.

“I meant that literally. Start tugging that pathetic limp dick of yours. Don't finish, don't come, you get that?” Bill enunciated every syllable like the crack of a whip. “I'm going to fix this, but you have to do what I say.”

“You _what_?” Jim felt a hot pulse throb in his dick, followed by a wave of shame.

“I said I'll fix this, if you fuck up, then I'll fix _you_ ,” Bill snapped, before he summarily hung up on Jim.

 

Jim stared at the phone like it had just arrived from Pluto. He felt a creeping terror that someone in the outer office had been listening to every word. Slowly he stared at the closed door, surely at this time of night there wouldn't be anyone about. Maybe just the overnight staff scattered about. He stiffly got up and stalked across the room, hand poised on the handle. He breathed deeply, his dick still twitching from Bill's tongue-lashing. He opened the door slightly, his stomach lurching then settling as he scanned the empty room. There'd be a security detail hovering nearby, but he was indeed alone.

Closing the door, Jim went back to his desk and stared at the clock. One hand dipped to his lap and his eyes flicked to the phone. Bill's voice echoed in his head and he pushed his hand over his dick, squeezing himself as he hardened.

 

Memories of Bill's voice came to him as he pulled at himself through his trousers. Insults slapped at him, spiralling him in self-loathing as he worked himself up. He freed his dick from his trousers and underwear, his shame standing to attention in the dim lighting.

He wanted to come, to hide himself again, tuck away all evidence of his snivelling, grovelling want, his need for Bill's scorn. As Bill's voice came to him again, he clutched his hands by his sides, gripping the chair until his knuckles were white.

He closed his eyes and saw himself sinking to his knees before Bill. Saw himself look up at Bill's face, saw himself basking in the bearded fucker's contempt for him.

He opened his eyes again, cold, clammy seat forming on the back of his neck. His dick was feeling the chill and beginning to sag. He couldn't dare to touch it again, not even to warm the flesh for fear of coming before he'd been ordered.

 

Nausea hit him, he was the Prime Minister, the leader of the nation, and the puppet of a sick bastard who had him by the balls. As he wallowed in his humiliation, he felt his dick twitch and sway to the side. He wanted Bill to storm in and find him like this. He wanted to be told what to do, how to pleasure Bill, how to subsume himself into utter degradation.

Biting his lip and eyes squeezed shut, Jim tried to regulate his breathing, inhaling deeply, and exhaling slowly.

 

A small noise close by. Eyes opening in terror. Heart pounding.

Perched on the desk, Bill loomed over him. One hand clicked on the desk lamp and he angled it. Jim made to cover himself as he looked away, but he knew it was futile so he gripped the arms of his chair instead. 

“Your little fuckup has been fixed,” Bill stated. His voice was soft and quiet, but felt like razor wire to Jim, who simply nodded. "I see you managed to get one thing right,” Bill continued, as casually as though he was going trough the minutes of a meeting.

Jim felt the waves crash inside his head and he nodded once.

“Out here,” Bill twitched his head back, moving out to the centre of the room.

 

Jim followed as though his dick and balls were attached by a leash. He caught a small movement of Bill's finger and he knelt, the carpet not doing much to comfort his knees. As Bill moved out of sight behind him, Jim found himself remembering other times Bill had merely flicked a finger like he was ashing a cigarette and Jim had automatically done whatever he'd been told to, soon not needing any verbal cues. He searched his mind trying to remember when it had started, but his aching dick brought him back to the present.

 

Bill had completed his circuit and was now planted firmly in front of Jim's face. The desk lamp's angle had been changed to provide them some light. A zip lowered and fabric rustled. Jim saw the same slight finger movement in the corner of his eye and he brought his hands up, carefully cupping Bill's dick and running his fingers slowly up and down it.

As Bill grew harder in his hands, Jim saw the finger signal again and plunged his mouth over Bill's dick, drowning in shame, bathing in the aching want for him.

“Well, at least you're good for something,” Bill breathed heavily as he spoke, making sharp thrusts. “That mouth's okay at delivering halfway decent speeches in the House, but so much better used in here.”

Jim gurgled as he slobbered on, his own dick yearning for attention.

Bill moved a shoe forward and nudged it. “As for that useless thing, the public canteen serves better looking sausages. Touch it.”

Jim's eyes widened and he gingerly took his own dick in one hand, the other still working Bill's.

“Just touch it. Nothing else,” Bill hissed.

Jim whimpered something deep in his throat, a plaintive, pathetic cry of need. Bill raised an eyebrow and a sneer of a smile broke on his lips.

Jim wrapped his tongue around the head of Bill's shaft, desperately lapping up the pre-come, his own dick almost ready to burst in the heat of his grip. Hate filed his innards, he would show Bill. He'd make him cry for more, reduce him to a wretched twitching heap, show he wasn't a useless hole to be abused.

Bill snarled as he came, hands planted on his sides, one final thrust into Jim's mouth to drive home his point.

Jim gagged, choking on the come, half falling back as he struggled for air. As the room span and he sank to his side, he saw Bill walk away.

“Don't fuck up again.”

 

Somewhere in the back of Jim's mind, he knew he'd fuck up again. He hoped he would.


End file.
